Nightmare
On Chazey Heath

The
creatures flapped, hopped and crabbed sideways into the meeting
place, blinking in the too-bright, warm sunshine. Night of The Living
Dead meets The Shining. Two fierce hell-hounds: Barney and Bonnie
skittered about; the former wearing devil horns on his collar; the
latter fiercely shaking off the witches’ hat that her master
sought to place on her head. Her master was ShuptupWally, wearing a
long , black cloak and fright mask. Not quite as frightening as
Slowsucker’s hair-tufted, bald and gnarled mask that many did
not realise he was wearing until told. Posh, rather worryingly,
floated in wearing a corkscrew-curl long, blonde wig that put us in
mind of Dolly Parton on a bad hair day, or a 70’s porn star.
She had also blacked a tooth and grown a couple of Vesuvian spots on
her chin for the event. Bomber, even more worryingly, dangled from
his fist a head, on the end of a long hank of hair; it’s grey,
blank expression not unlike its carrier after a night on the lash.
And talking of flagellation Ms Whiplash and her maid, J (our Hares
for the day) wore fetching, large pointy witch’s hats with
long, orange wigs. I shall just say they appeared very at ease and I
won’t make any of the expected old witch jokes. Slippery, on
the other hand, had opted for a small, but noticeable witch’s
hat with mauve fur circling a rounded point that Glittertits likened
to a, ahem, proud male appendage. Had it not been for the shorts and
legs we would not have recognised Motox, in a green-faced
Frankenstein’s monster disguise. Drac, of course, lived up to
his name, wearing that flowing black cloak, whitening this face and
smooth head and adding the finishing touch of blood dripping from the
corners of his mouth. Actually, it was surprising that he and his
blood-brother Vlad arrived at all. When I followed them in my car,
turning right off the main road they entirely ognored the next left
into the car park and headed at speed straight on, to the fancy
clubhouse; no doubt believing it heaving with fresh meat in the form
of shapely virgins.

It’s
quite interesting what curious looks you get when running
hell-for-leather down a leafy lane in the company of a flowingly
cloaked, white-faced Dracula lookalike. The older lady and gent
displayed typical English reserve but eyebrows were definitely raised
and they gave each other a look that popped invisible question marks
above their heads. We went out the usual way with a certain speed
since the Hares had told us that where we saw a flour ‘C’
would be a Chocolate Check. i.e choccies would be hidden there so it
was well worth getting there early. Each Chocolate Check had been
nicely decorated with gauzy spider’s webs and black plastic
spiders. But you needed to look hard for the chocs since earlier
walkers, grazing deer and swooping, Cadbury-fancying kitehawks had
made off with a certain amount of the booty. Fannybag was
particularly miffed that the ‘fast runners’ were scoffing
all the chocolates. Perhaps a spot more interest in the
training and a bit less interest in the snack bars and you
might be able to keep up with the ‘fast runners’ m’dear.

Long, long
sections of this Hash led down concrete thoroughfares through the
barren wastes where several cars and, rather surprisingly, an
ambulance tried to mow us down. I’m sure the Hares had good
intentions but this was indeed the Road to Hell. Particularly for C5
who is suffering with suspected plantar fasciitis (I believe
this is the conviction that ultra right-wing gardeners should take
over the planet). The other problem we wrestled with was the lack of
flour, which turned into a bit of a Curate’s egg. Much of the
stuff had been washed away by the overnight rain, rabbits, passing
itinerant wannabe roadsweepers etc. so we searched in vain on
occasions for a trail – which kept the Pack together certainly
– but led to mass confusion and banging of foreheads on
fenceposts. But it did do us an enormous favour. Wheezing our way
pitifully up a steep, serpentine (more Burmese python than corn
snake) hill we finally reached the Regroup in the middle of a blasted
heath to be informed by J that, regrettably (in her view) the
‘Fishook’ ¾ of the way up the mountainous track
had been sluiced away by the rain. Those of us with any breath left
at all croaked “Wun ‘il, wu huhun ‘il” in the
style of Amazing Grace, then fell in the grass, broken husks. One
‘ill too many. The Long Trail (I guess we should have known)
led round in a large circle back to the Regroup. But what a fine
circle. The day was fine and clear and those not too hungover could
view the metallic sparkle of the Thames as it rippled between the
unshaven green chins of the overlooking hills. Down to earth it was a
bit of a slog with Cerberus across a soggy, protracted field, pocked
with hoof marks. Do you know, the darn woman was hardly breathing
hard while I was exhibiting all the symptoms of advanced anonymous
phone-call pervery. And she’d already been out with her dogs
for over an hour already this morning! Still, it’s nice to be
with a woman who can keep going for a long time.

We caught
up finally with Bomber, Spot, BillyBullshit and Trainspotter, who was
overjoyed at finding two large, eyeball chocolates at a ‘C’
Check and put them in the eye sockets of his fright mask.
Surprisingly, the bulging, red-veined objects gave him a more normal
look than usual. We clattered on across the concrete, eventually
hitting a grass track (hooray!) and finding SlowSucker standing next
to a two-way Check with a couple of dog walkers with whom he was
discussing furniture. No, I don’t understand that either. Just
to be contrary and because we knew where we were Bomber, Cerberus,
Dave (who actually had no idea where he was) and I went left instead
of right, stumbling and slipping over grassy tufts and lumpy pebbles
down and up a narrow track before popping out on to the road opposite
the pub. Billy also popped out just in front of us, having taken a
massive shortcut which had confused the poor old fellow. We took him
gently by the elbows and ushered him towards beer and a delightful,
sunny garden. Lovely.

Thanks to the ladies for our trail but the day was
altogether far too nice and sunny for a Halloween Hash! On
On. Ghostwriter Hashgate.

Down, Down
Downs

While RA Simple flew to
Honkong using just one arm Glittertits presented the following :-

Name

Reason

Style
points

J

Her
**th birthday

At
last I have a rival

Quack

Achieved
his 50 runs. Well done!

Excellent
pint for a half-centurian

ShutupWally

Leaving
bondage equipment lying around

Didn’t quite bond with the pint. Iceman collected the spillage.

Florence

Not
going on Radio Berkshire!

Smooth
as silk

Bomber

For
pushing BlouseBlazer into a corn field during the Fun Run 8 years
ago

Awarded
to BlouseBlazer for hurt feelings. A fine, if quivering, effort.

TinOpener

Being
canny and not running with the FRBs – so no Checking!

No
checking with the pint either. A quality pint

Cerberus

RA
abuse – stating he is older than TinOpener

A
fine half, well earned

Ms
Whiplash, J

The
Hares

A
fine display by our flagellant friend

Up and
Coming

Run

Date

Grid
Reference

Venue

Hares

1512

12/11/06

537643

The
Traveller’s Friend, Crookham

Potty,
Simple

1513

19/11/06

845615

Sandhurst
Memorial car parkON2 Wellington Arms(Please do not park at
the pub)

BGBSlippery

Hash
Skittles Evening

Saturday 11th
November at 19:30. At Civil Service Club, James Lane, Burghfield.
Gridref: 676676. Cost - just £6 for all the skittles and food
you can eat... To book a place see Motox.